Lovers' Game
by Kryteria
Summary: The interactions between Grendel's Mother and Beowulf. Their sick game of love told from her point of view. Based on the movie and a bit AU. Warning implied character death. Be leary--it's a bit heavy w/adult underlining themes.


Hi there! I'm new here and this will be my first fanfic—ever, depending on what I post first… Anyways I hope you guys will enjoy my take on the relationship between Beowulf and his 'demon honey'. It will become apparent that this is based of the movie, I can't remember most all of the book so basing it off of that would just be glutting for pain. I don't necessarily like this pair or even the characters at that. This is just a pointless endeavor, good practice and totally worthless because I don't own these characters. Please remember that my intent here is to become a better writer so constructive criticisms and word sof encouragement are worth their weight in gold to me. Thank you!

***

I loll in my own bloodshed, gleefully my heart jumps. I'm hearing footsteps--distant, but approaching, the pitter and shuffling of a lover. He's returned to take his treasured trophy. My old foe, oh how I've missed that short-lived test of character, yours had won then. Slumping against tattered rock, I feel his presence cloak me. He doesn't draw near, no words deafen the shared quiet, for a moment the thin air hangs heavy between us. Neither move, neither breaths. I feel the throb of still air.

I can read him like the seasons, I know his thoughts, his reasons, I know why he's come, what I've done, why I'm here—why I lie here undone, dismembered by the coarse cotton cords of my heated desires. He's there, always at the end of those strands, braiding my heartstrings, and then with unwavering hands he begins unraveling the threading of our history. My persons quilting.

He had bated me and blinded by my hunger, I bit. My craving for retribution was too vast, my warped, writhing justice, damned to be forever etched in my wounded self-worth. It seems I'd lost a crucial battle, a limb of infantry severed. He had me devoted completely, I couldn't see. I lost myself to my own misguided pride; I had sought to play the fool, toy with this land's great hero. Yet, I was the only pawn to be played.

"Beowulf, turn back now. I am no sea monster; I am not of those haggard beasts that you've battled thus far. I think Beowulf; I can read you like no creature born of flesh and bone can. You are but a pawn on the palm of my hand. With you I shall do whatever I so please. O' great king, hear the thee and heed thy warning: leave or your death is to be at my hands." I feel the water lurch beneath my feet, he's advancing. Receding into the eddying ebony waters, I avoid his first lunge. Rage highlights his every swing, determined to take my life. "Realize that you cannot harm what you cannot see, le alone sense. Understand that you cannot kill me."

"Demon, know your place! You are no among the living so I shall send you to your death!" He poises for another strike. A clank to my left, I sense him repositioning himself. Such is an irrational man, anger is all he sees…still, he is nevertheless a man. I slink around him, creeping my hands along his back.

"Brave words for a mortal. I do not ask for ask of death—neither should you. Be mine, and then ask of riches. I will grant you fame beyond that of the gods!"

"We hang in limbo, you and I, your days are numbered as are my own. Grant me another son, allow yourself an heir." He swings around and begins to wade through the lagoon in silence. I glimpse the ferocity that sweeps into those eyes. My heart dances and my innards churn, I've seen that heat on so many a face. Frenzied flames of a heart's desire spill forth for me to see. Though he hides it behind his anger,, in this cavern's darkness, I can see. I know him…too well. He is like a moth, genetically coded to seek a flame's warmth and die of its beauty.

I meet him where I stand. He leans in needing a better look, to better size his prey, to make sure that his hold on me is solid. He tracks me as if by smell, by the stench of the blood spilled from myself. I have been trailed to this place by sent of my hemorrhaging heart. My noble warrior has come to claim his prize, those last few minuets of my life. The last spoiled innards of what been "us" that was the name of our game--our sick little competition. No one wins here, not in love. We've both lost this game. And so I lie here, roofed by my lover, alone and in bad company.


End file.
